The Witchy Woman Affair
by girl in the glen
Summary: From the prompt Witchy Woman by The Eagles, for Song Story Section VII on LJ.


The prompt is Witchy Woman by The Eagles. The phrase I latched onto is below.

She held me spellbound in the night  
Dancing shadows and firelight  
Crazy laughter in another room  
And she drove herself to madness  
With a silver spoon

Illya Kuryakin could feel the drug coursing through his veins, a viscous veil of something not unlike euphoria battling with his will to remain cognizant of the surroundings, and of the dangerous woman wielding the needle.

She was mad, or so it seemed to the Russian as he plummeted farther and farther into an abyss filled with dark memories and horrifying demons wearing jackboots and overcoats. He could hear marching in the background as it competed with the sound of her laughter. She was laughing at him, and he was powerless to stop her.

Kuryakin writhed in agony as the wretched drug made its way to his innermost being. The witch who held him hovered over his face, her eyes the color of the palest aquamarine; something he noted with obvious detachment as she peered at him from beneath dark lashes. Her fingertips set off blazing shards beneath his skin, her lacquered nails scratching a trail across his chest that prompted him to howl in pain.

"Cry Kuryakin, I care not for your agony. You have deprived me of my true love, and in return I will have you this night and forever…" And then she was laughing again, a cackle that resonated within the old walls of this dungeon. The wealth of her family did not inhibit Lady Anne Treville, nor did the lineage of nobility she boasted. Spoiled by affluence and the prestige of her family name, the young woman cared not for any of that except what it might gain for her in the realm of power.

The Russian detested everything that Lady Anne represented, although he knew her methods were not the norm among her kind. She had let greed and a perverted sense of entitlement draw her into the evil of THRUSH, and the arms of an equally evil man named Adam Caulder. It was he whom Kuryakin had killed with a single bullet as he took aim on the UNCLE agent's partner, Napoleon Solo.

Napoleon was now in hospital, recovering from his wounds incurred at the hands of this pair of maniacs. In a rare moment of inattention the Russian had been abducted by Anne's minions, and brought to her family estate. Here in the bowels of the ancient building he was at her mercy, seemingly on a path to oblivion with each injection.

Lady Anne stood as though in a trance, black hair and red stained lips in stark contrast to a complexion so pale she seemed almost ethereal. But this was no illusion, and the proof of it was in her cruelty, the complete abandon as she plotted the Russian's miserable journey in retaliation for the death of her lover.

"I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, at least that is what is said of me…' Anne was speaking to the room, not looking at anything or anyone. Her state of mind was dangerously open due to the drugs she had herself taken.

"My father was not a good man, agent Kuryakin. No, not a good man. I found him with another woman and …" She stopped, her attention given now to a far off event. Illya could easily imagine what would have come next. UNCLE had already surmised that Anne had murdered her own father, but the body had never been found so no charges were made against her. She was, to the public, a grieving daughter.

Illya struggled against the leather bonds that held him. His muscles ached from the drugs, his mind still reeling with the drugs. Control was what he needed, to keep control where chaos threatened to loom in his mind.

Lady Anne was still standing, unmoving in a skin tight sheath made of raw silk, as black as her hair. Stiletto heels had made her slightly taller than Kuryakin, but she was slightly built, hardly a match for him if only he could free himself.

A pang of white hot pain shot through the blond at that moment, eliciting an involuntary whimper. His chest was on fire and his head began to throb unmercifully as another aspect of the drug's characteristics manifested. Kuryakin was limp from the sudden surge, and his pitiful outburst brought Anne out of her own trancelike posture.

"You will die a miserable death, you Russian dog. My life is empty now without Adam, and you will pay, and all of UNCLE as well. You've made your bed and you will sleep with the devil before this night is over." She was overcome with her anger, deranged by drugs and hatred. Illya was only vaguely aware of her threats, his own body betraying him now as it yielded to her potions, to the bile of her evil plans.

In the midst of her ranting, Anne did not hear as one by one her guards were disabled by Napoleon Solo. She did not watch for the shadow of his approach; was terrified by the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand when he forcefully took her arm, removing the syringe she still held.

"It's over. I don't want to hurt a woman, but I will if you try anything." Napoleon's voice was rigid, his intentions very clear. It didn't dissuade the madness of Lady Anne, however, and she turned with a vengeance in spite of her fear. Her hatred was overwhelming as she fought against the grip of the American agent. From a hidden place emerged a new weapon, a knife that she aimed at Napoleon's heart. He slapped it away and shot her with a sleep dart, watching as she slipped away from consciousness into a flight of unseen horrors from the hate fueled dreams she harbored.

Napoleon let her drop to the floor as he set about releasing Illya from his bonds. The Russian's pain had mostly subsided, although he felt fairly certain there might be more to endure. Wobbly and in need of a helping hand from his partner, Kuryakin went to the cabinet from which Anne had withdrawn her drugs, hoping to locate what would prove to be an antidote to the concoction in his system. Napoleon recognized the signs and scanned the shelves as well, finally seeing what looked to be the item they sought.

"Is this it?" Solo searched his partner's eyes for signs of recognition. Illya nodded. "Yes, I believe so. I do not wish to try it out here, however." It was back to London Headquarters then, with the pharmacy of Lady Anne in their possession.

Illya was checked into medical, the drugs analyzed by the labs and then returned to the physicians in charge for administering to the fallen agent. Bouts of pain and nausea were endured before the OK was given for the antidote, while Napoleon dealt with Lady Anne and finished the reports on the strange affair.

When at last Kuryakin was well enough to leave hospital he and Solo boarded a flight for New York, both of them glad to be heading for home and leaving behind the curious affair with the witchy woman who had haunted their lives for the past several weeks.

"What do you suppose will happen to Lady Anne?" Napoleon posed the question, never at ease with any woman being subjected to harsh treatment, even one such as Lady Anne. Illya was less concerned for her well being, logic and safety being his primary concern.

"She is certifiably mad, and will most likely be interred in a facility such as Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum. Good riddance to her." He bristled slightly at his partner's lack of enthusiasm for her incarceration. Illya was a sympathetic man, but evil was, by necessity, in need of treatment equal to its damaging actions.

The American subdued his natural inclination to mercy as he considered what both he and Illya had been subjected to. His own wounds were well on their way to being completely healed, but they each understood that the drugs Illya had been injected with might still have side effects for the Russian to endure. Better that Anne was locked away, her evil intentions shut up in Broadmoor.

_Thousands of miles away the raven haired beauty plotted her revenge on the men who had ruined her life_


End file.
